Daydream by the Sea
by c1araoswa1d
Summary: Mini Epilogue to 'Waking Dreams', John and Clara and Maddie have a family moment on a beach in Blackpool


John sketched quickly, pencil lightly outlining the image before filling in darker edges and scratching in shading, because he knew how fleeting the moment would be. He thought of all of his moments as fleeting and he cherished them more than he could ever explain, memorizing their memories in photographs of senses he could recall at will in times of doubt or darkness. The weight of his young daughter settled atop his stomach, her sleepy breath warming his collar at the end of a long winter day; the firmness of his wife's hand held within his on a stroll through a park in the spring; the healthy laughter of three voices mingling perfectly during a picnic in summer.

They were talking between them, mother and daughter, sharing something that made them both smile warmly at one another. Their words were quiet, meant only for them, and he respected that, remaining still on his spot on a blanket in the sand. He felt it only fair he allow them those times without interruption – their lives had been so turbulent for so long, they deserved the peace they'd found now. To John, they deserved so much more; they deserved every beautiful thing the world could provide and he tried his very best to accommodate because they'd given him privileges he never thought he'd be allowed to have again.

To call the woman he loved his _wife_ and exist in the confidence that she loved him in return.

To hear a child call out happily, "Daddy!"

It all seemed so unusual in the beginning, when he'd returned with them on a long flight to London and followed them up to their little flat, watching the tiny girl asleep on her mother's exhausted shoulder. He'd stepped inside and waited in their quiet little living room, his bags hanging in each of his hands, for her to return from slipping her child into bed for the night and when she'd moved out towards him, it had been with an eagerness that slapped the last of his inhibitions away and dropped his bags beside each of his ankles to wrap his arms around her.

It had been with a fear he hadn't expected.

"Please," Clara had uttered on a shaky voice as their kiss ended, "Don't ever leave again."

John didn't know what had brought on that terror that he might even think to leave. After everything they'd gone through, after the understanding he thought they'd come to on that beach in France. After the day spent sightseeing together as a family, going back to his rented flat to settle Maddie onto the couch before they retired for the night to his room. After the tender and leisurely way they'd made love, careful to keep silent, and then finally relaxing into each other's arms to drift away into a dreamless night.

But maybe he knew. Clara still couldn't comprehend she deserved his love in the way he was ready to give it, and he'd laughed and kissed her forehead, whispering honestly, "I am yours for the rest of my days."

Now he looked out at her, laughing into the cooling air of autumn. There was little apprehension left in Clara these days, only a tenacity to live and a wonder to explore that she replicated within her daughter, and inspired within him, and he sighed, settling the pencil down on a half-finished drawing, watching her turn to look at him. There was that smirk, he thought as he bowed his head to chuckle; that little devilish smile reserved for him that set his heart beating double and he waited for them to return to his side.

"Maddie has elected to build a sandcastle with a moat for her sharks," Clara told him quietly, settling onto her knees on the blanket in front of him.

Eyebrows rising, John repeated, "Sharks."

"Apparently the notion of alligators is old fashioned," Clara informed him, holding in her amusement.

Grinning up at her, he sighed, and looked out to Maddie, asking, "Has she started making plans for her birthday yet?" Then he stated, "It is only a month and a half away."

Clara turned, sitting and then shifting herself back into him to rest her head against his shoulder, smiling out at the little girl making a pile of sand she slapped at happily. If they listened hard enough, they could hear her singing some song she'd picked up that summer in Sydney going along to the beat her head was nodding. It was what she seemed to love best about their two week jaunt to Australia – the music. He bowed his head at the memory of her screaming at the sight of a wild kangaroo and he laughed as he laid his hands atop Clara's thighs, giving them a small rub before she slipped her own hands over his, intertwining their fingers to sigh together and watch their daughter.

Heart skipping, he thought it again – _their daughter_ – and he told her brightly, "She's an amazing little human being and I have no doubts one day she's going to change the world."

Hands slipping from his, Clara slid the edge of her pumpkin colored jumper up over the high bump of her belly, exposing the skin, still tanned from their trip, even a month later. John exhaled calmly at the sight of it, at the promise of it and the love with which it had been created, and he shifted his pale hands up over that rise in her flesh, tight now with five months of growth, and he held her as she asked, "And this one? What do you make of him?"

"Oliver is a dreamer," he assured.

Clara laughed, replying solidly, "He's a footballer."

"Perhaps he dreams of making goals and cheering fans," John quipped, fingers searching out those subtle movements against the layers of skin and muscle that sat between him and his son. He couldn't quite feel him yet, but he knew those days would be coming soon and sooner than he imagined would come the day he could hold him against his chest and look into his tiny face to wonder at everything he could become one day. Not that he hadn't already started to ponder it.

Their son could grow to love travelling as he did, or reading books as she did, or twirling about in a purple tutu with a doll held between his hands as his older sister did. He could yearn for strange foods, or delight in the feel of an ocean breeze, or long for the revving of a car engine before him. Oliver could want all of those things or none of them at all and John would love every moment of his life he was allowed to live for, hoping for so many more than he rightfully should deserve.

"Whatever he'll be," Clara sighed, hands shifting his towards the spot he knew she was feeling him, "He'll be exactly our son."

Nodding slowly, John sighed, "He'd better be, or I'll be having words with Jack..."

She brought a hand up to knock his shoulder lightly with her knuckles as he laughed.

They both glanced up at the little girl running lazily towards them, lopsided grin adorning her reddened face as she carefully knelt before them, gesturing back, "The water ate the castle, so I suppose the sharks were hungry." Then she inched forward, eyes widening as she looked to her mother's exposed stomach, asking in a hushed voice, "Is he moving?"

John would never tire of Maddie's fascination of her mother's pregnancy. He watched her hand reach out slowly to lay gently just underneath her navel, a small smile spreading on her lips as Clara offered, "I think he knows when you're near, he always goes right to you."

They'd told her when they'd come home from the hospital after meeting with River. The little girl had spent weeks worried about her mother's sudden exhaustion, and her random bouts of morning sickness, and Clara hadn't noticed how much it had affected her daughter's mood until she'd seen it shift dramatically at the sight of that baby girl held in her uncle's arms. They'd ushered her into the living room and sat before her to watch her brow drop as her skin went ashen.

"John and I wanted you to know I'm alright," Clara had told her gently, "We know you're concerned about me and we were waiting for the right time to tell you and maybe we waited too long," she'd laughed nervously before reaching out for her daughter's fidgeting hands to still them and announce, "Maddie, we're not quite going to make it for your birthday, but you're going to be a big sister next year."

They'd sat in silence for a moment, waiting for the words to register with the child who stared back at them curiously before she finally screamed and launched herself at them. And then she'd gone quiet, staring in contemplation at her mother's stomach before a million questions came fluttering from her lips. She wanted to know how her mother felt and if she felt the baby and whether it was alright for her to hug her and if that's what had made her sick. She wanted to know how big the baby was and how big the baby would get and if the baby got its food from her and if that's why she'd been so tired.

Maddie asked if it were a boy or a girl and she asked if it would have brown hair or silver and she asked it would have brown eyes or blue, and she continued on until both adults playfully shouted at her to stop and she giggled and then hugged at her mother while looking to John. She offered him a smile, one that warmed his heart entirely before she began slowly, "John is this baby's daddy, right mummy?"

On a sheepish huff of amusement, Clara told her, "Yeah, Maddie, John is this baby's daddy."

And then Maddie had bit her lip and asked, "Could John be my daddy now too then?"

He'd held out his arms to her, ready for her when she latched onto him, and he'd held her tightly then, as he'd watched Clara nod her approval before telling her quietly, "Yes, Maddie, if that's what you'd like, I would be honored if I could be your daddy as well."

That night he'd cried silently, settled at the edge of their bed, his eyes finding a half moon staring back at him from a darkened sky while Clara bathed. She emerged to sit at his side, hugging him fiercely, understanding those tears were from a happiness he couldn't explain over a feeling of fulfillment he hadn't felt in too long. Everything, he'd told her that night, was exactly as it should be. And yet, he knew, everything would be changing. Morning sickness gave way to a slowly growing bump of life; their little flat was abandoned for a small house; their ring fingers were soon adorned in a promise of their forever.

"Daddy," Maddie called softly, "Are you ever sad that mummy gets to hold Oliver inside of her instead of you?"

John laughed, shaking his head before scoffing, "I would look rather silly with a belly like that."

"Are you saying I look silly?" Clara teased.

He smiled and Maddie offered, "Mummy, you look beautiful."

Nodding her appreciation to her daughter, Clara sighed, "It is curious, with all of the medical advancements, they've yet to work out a way for men to carry the children."

"I think boys just don't want to do it because they're afraid," Maddie explained with a giggle.

Pointing, John told her, "You're absolutely right." Then he looked to Clara, "If you could, would you have it any other way?"

She smiled and looked to her stomach, hands rounding it on either side before admitting, "For me, I wouldn't, but I know a lot of women who would pay good money to switch jobs with their spouse." She laughed brightly, "Amy, for starters. And Rory would gladly carry the baby."

Maddie fell over in a mess of giggles at the thought.

Looking between the girl and her mother, John sighed. It had been a year since he'd met them, walking along a beach in a dream. A year since he thought he might simply check on them, offer a few kind words, and move on to another line on a screen. He never imagined how thoroughly wrong he'd been, but he was thankful he was. He watched Maddie lying on her back, staring up at the skies above them, a brilliant blue, lined randomly with the whitest clouds. She shimmied backwards just enough to carefully curl her arm around her mother's stomach, cradling her baby brother as she closed her eyes to take a long breath in tandem with the woman leaned against his chest.

"I know what you're thinking," Clara admitted in almost a whisper.

"It's funny how every moment since we've woken has felt like a dream."

She chuckled to herself, and John watched Maddie's fingertips slowly brush against her flesh as the little girl drifted off, no longer afraid to sleep, knowing she'd open those big beautiful eyes to see her mummy or her daddy smiling down at her. John hoped Oliver had Clara's eyes. He laughed softly and kissed Clara's neck before reaching to caress the top of their daughter's head to see the little lift of her lips at the gesture and he settled his other hand firmly overtop Clara's stomach, taking a long breath of salty air and thinking, maybe possibly, he'd felt the tiniest of thumps against his palm.

A daydream saying hello.


End file.
